Today in the Commonwealth we celebrated The Queen’s Official Birthday. The Queen’s real birthday is on 21st April but this is a day to mark her coronation to the throne and a day of pageantry and celebration for our Royal Family, armed forces and anyone who wants to revel in a bit of national pride.

I’m not much of a monarchist and about as likely to put my hand on my heart when the national anthem plays as John Lydon, but something very strange hit me during the 2003 celebrations of The Queen’s 50th anniversary, even stranger than Bryan May’s guitar solo on top of Buckingham Palace. The thing was, I actually buy into this stuff! I love the fact that The Queen is adored by millions of Britons. That Australia, who by all rights should be a republic, still voted to retain her as head of state. That Fiji, after more than 20 years of independence, still celebrate her birthday. Despite all of her offspring’s (and husband’s) misdemeanours she remains a talisman of Britishness and, for me, Englishness. I’ll leave it to Stephen and Hugh to sum up what it means to be English.

Coronation Chicken was a dish created in 1953 for The Queen’s coronation by Rosemary Hume and subsequently published in her, and Constance Spry’s, cookery book. The recipe has been changed and adapted over the years but this is quite a faithful version of Hume’s original. > > Read on > >

Ynys Môn, better known to non-Welsh speakers as Anglesey, is an island that lies a short distance off the Northwest coast of Wales across the Menai Strait and is the fifth largest island off the British mainland.

A large part of the local economy depends on tourism thanks to its outstanding rural beauty and dramatic coastlines, very typical of North Wales, but that’s not to say entirely dependant. Industry and agriculture also play big roles for the population of 69,000 people, two of its largest employers being the Wylfa nuclear power station and Anglesey Aluminium (owned by Rio Tinto). However, Anglesey faces testing times in the coming years. Wylfa is provisionally earmarked for closure in 2010 (a good or bad thing is not for me to comment) and as a result Rio Tinto have decided that the aluminium smelters cannot viably survive without their cheap source of energy. Combined job-losses could total over 2000 people, obviously a devastating blow for a community of this size.

But Anglesey has a few rays of hope on the horizon. There are discussions to keep Wylfa open until as late as 2014 which will at least secure those jobs for the near future (and hopefully beyond the recession) after which, German company RWE npower have an option on the site. But Anglesey has also secured part of a £38m EU regeneration grant aimed at helping the most deprived areas of Wales as well as private companies looking to invest in the area. Further to this, a new scheme is being rolled out to encourage the placement of students with existing island businesses designed to stem the “brain drain” of high achieving school-leavers and university graduates from leaving Anglesey, a statistic recorded as a massive 89% by the 2001 census.

Hopefully the proposed support will make a difference to Anglesey’s inhabitants. My own countless holiday experiences in North Wales (albeit never across the strait) have always been a joy and it would be terrible to see their community degenerate as is currently threatened.

Okay, no more ‘heavy’ stuff. Let’s see what Anglesey has to fill our bellies! Here’s a very tasty dish from the island.

Ŵyau Ynys Môn (lit. Anglesey Island Eggs) is a gratin of mashed potatoes and boiled eggs, topped with white sauce and cheese. Very simple to make and is destined to be a regular at Chez Greedydave. > > Read on > >

Back on food, and I hadn’t sampled Patum Peperium before the beginning of this year. Plenty of people in this country remember it as a store cupboard staple when they were growing up, whether they liked it or not. Sadly, it wasn’t an item on me old Ma’s shopping list. Saying that, it’s not particularly widely available now and I don’t have any perception of it being more so when I was a kid.

So I had very little idea of what to expect when my delivery arrived from an online deli other than Gentleman’s Relish was a fermented, spiced anchovy paste whose secret recipe dates back astonishingly to 1828 and whose perfect partner is hot, buttered toast. Deciding to do it the traditional way I popped the top off the small, white plastic pot and spread a little on the corner of a sippet of toast. Wow! This stuff is potent. The saltiness hits you straight away, but the intensity of the fermented anchovy creeps up and keeps creeping up, similar to a first Marmite experience (which in turn is like a near-death experience). But this crescendo peaked and I began to find myself enjoying it thoroughly. Yes, these are very strong flavours but not severe. The intensity of its fishiness is comparable with that of Thai shrimp paste (if you’ve ever sampled that straight from the tub) and the spice is well balanced. On texture, well it is exceptionally salty to the extent of being grainy, but Patum Peperium is good, ballsy stuff, befitting of any gentleman’s breakfast table.

Actually, I think that’s what might entertain me the most, that in a world where peasant foods have become that of the elite, (oysters, monkfish, cassoulet, etc) Gentleman’s Relish has done the reverse. Originally designed for the bow-tied hoi polloi, Patum Peperium is ours for a couple of quid a pot. Although, it is still best served with the morning broadsheet, ironed by one’s butler.

GDave

It’s only fitting that I kick off this whole malarkey with something from my own neck-of-the-woods and something which, not entirely out of bias, is one of my all-time favourites, Eccles Cakes.

Eccles used to be a borough unto itself and bordered my own district of Flixton. These days, however, the town of Eccles is part of the borough of Salford, about 4 miles west of Manchester. By most accounts Eccles led a reasonably low-key life up until the Industrial Revolution when the Bridgewater Canal and the Liverpool & Manchester Railway brought industry to the area in the form of textiles and iron. But mention the name of Eccles to anyone on these shores and, “Eccles Cakes,” will be the first words you’ll hear. They are delicate little pastries filled with a currants, candied fruit peel, bound with butter and topped with a sprinkling of caster sugar.

Accounts of the Eccles Cake go all the way back to the 18th century and were sold commercially from 1796 by James Birch from a small shop on the corner of Church Street and Vicarage Road in the town. The annals of the Eccles and District History Society tell of Birch moving to larger premises in 1810 only to have the old shop occupied by a former employee, James Bradburn, who set himself up as a rival Eccles Cake maker, the scoundrel. There are a couple of lovely photos of the two shops on their website.

Okay, so my pastry experience is limited at best and I’ve never tried flaky pastry before so this could be messy. This version using frozen butter and lard appealed more than endless rolling, dotting and folding. > > Read on > >